


Fire

by kscribbles



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dream Sex, Dreams, M/M, Oral Sex, Slash, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Charley has an <b>intense</b> sex dream about Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

> My 20th Fright Night fic!  
> Written for the lj community FrightNight2011's kinkmeme: http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html

_Ugh_ , he thinks as he wakes up. It had felt really good a few seconds ago, but now it’s just messy and uncomfortable. A fucking wet dream? He hasn’t had any of those since he started shagging Amy. _Shagging?_ Man, he’s been hanging around Peter way too long. Oh my god. _Peter_. The entire dream comes surging back into his head, too much information all at once, but he _remembers_ , in vivid, vivid detail…

_You’ve taken out that vampire. The one that thought it’d be funny to come to Fright Night. That bastard was your seventh. No eighth. Seventh. Do you count Ed? No, never count Ed. He was a casualty, not a victory. But now, now it’s time to celebrate, so you take a swig from Peter’s flask as you get into his car. It tastes like fire, and you wonder at the idea of green fire. If it would spew from the Mirage volcano, would that throw the tourists off kilter? Maybe St. Patrick’s Day, all the Strip fountains should be green. Wet fire. Makes no sense, kinda like Peter. Like you and Peter. Like vampires in Vegas. Like how Peter is winking at you and it’s all sex (how does he **do** that?), and you’re hard already. And should you be? Why not? Sex is amazing. Would be amazing. (Where’s Amy?) With Peter? Sex with Peter?_

_Peter’s driving, he’s watching the road, so how did he wink? He shouldn’t be drinking either. But that’s okay, because the two of you are in the back seat now, and the car probably shouldn’t be moving, but it is. You could stop it with your feet if you wanted. Or a hand out the window like a sail, the drag would slow everything down. Peter stops it with his mouth. His mouth on yours and the car stops. The world stops. He **is** the world. His mouth is. His tongue, you feel it against yours and it’s so different from Amy, from others. And it’s not so different. It’s good, so really good. Wet, and you taste his fire again. There and smoke (which goes with fire). And how should you know what smoke tastes like on him? But it makes you harder than you were already. So does his hand in your hair. Did you ever tell him you like it tugged on, just a little? You wouldn’t have. But he knows. He knows because you’re dreaming and he knows everything you know, but now that doesn’t matter, because it **is** his hand, not yours, unbuttoning your jeans. The zipper sounds loud, even past your heart racing in your ears, the wet noise of tongues, and Peter groaning when he pulls your cock out._

_He says something to you, pulls his mouth away. You think it must be **fuck** and your name and other words. These are important words but you forget them before you hear them. You hear **want** and **fuck** again, and you think **Yes. Yes to everything. Always. Want. Peter.** And where IS Amy? She wouldn’t like this. Wouldn’t like his mouth on your cock, because that’s where it is, and you have one hand trying to clutch at the roof of the car (how is there room in here for this?), and the other hand in **his** hair, and damn he has really fucking great hair, but his mouth is so much better. It’s like a cunt that can think, because for sure Peter’s mouth has a mind of its own. Maybe she would like this? Amy. You look at her in the front seat. When did she show up? She’s driving, pretending to drive, making driving noises with her mouth and spinning the wheel round and round. She catches your eye in the rearview and you feel your face burn hot because she’s caught you being gone down on by someone else. **Oh fuck** Peter is so goddamned good. You might come really soon._

_Sorry you say to Amy, but she smiles, lifts both hands off the wheel and gives you a double thumbs up. She’s happy for you. She leaves the car with a door slam and a wave through the window. The sun is setting and you’re **really** going to come. You say that to Peter. Maybe. Maybe you were just thinking about what it’d feel like to come in his mouth. Amy’s never done that. Always finishes with her hand. Peter laughs and it feels so strange, his laugh, around you, his stubble against your thigh. What a dream detail, way to go subconscious! **Don’t come yet** you think Peter must say, but you don’t see his mouth move because you can’t see his mouth. Because he’s behind you, you’re in his lap, sort of. Your back to his chest and you can feel his hard-on, and you’ve never felt anyone else’s before, and really, this car is very accommodating._

_There’s another zip (unzip, they sound the same, but they shouldn’t, they’re so different), louder than anything else so far, than the noise of the traffic, the sudden rain on the roof. The radio did say flash floods today. Fuck the weather, there’s a cock, **Peter’s cock** , and he’s about to **OH GOD** he’s about to fuck you with it, and that should be scary, but it isn’t, it’s exciting, it’s amazing, and you **feel** it, and how should you know how that feels? but you do, somehow (way to go, subconscious!). You’re rising up just enough, thighs trembling and you’re sinking down on his cock, so slowly and he’s murmuring again, what **are** those goddamned words? but who cares, you feel every inch, sliding into you. Is he really that big? Should it hurt or something? It doesn’t, it’s like nothing else, ever. You’re moving together, he’s guiding you, and inside it’s… Jesus, that spot! You were about to come before, but got distracted, think that maybe you don’t need anyone or anything on your cock, this would be enough, Peter stroking you from inside. He’s grunting, his hot breath against your ear, pushing you up to stand, bracing you against the seat back, so he can stand too (you feel the cold of his ammo belt against your naked back. You’re naked now.), get more leverage as he moves faster. How can you both be standing?_

_Oh, because you’re back at the penthouse now, of course. And it’s not the back of the car’s front seat, it’s the back of one of his chairs, and you’re clinging to the leather, afraid you might rip it, and he is fucking you like there is no tomorrow (maybe there won’t be, it’s not like vampire-hunting is the safest hobby). You hear the slap of skin on skin, his moans are delicious, you can almost taste them. You think maybe he really does sound like this when he fucks. And you want him to fuck you. Want this to be **real**. Want his cock inside you and his hand wrapped around **yours** (those fingers, god they’re beautiful, how many illusions have they performed? how many showgirls have they been inside?). And you know it’s not real, couldn’t possibly, it would never happen, but your name is squeezed from his lips like a whimper, and you might wake up before you come, and fuck that would SO suck, after all this, but you can already sense the light outside, hear that bird that chirps you awake every fucking morning. If you could just hold on to this, feel him moving in you a little bit longer, if he tightens his hand…_

_And then your name again, clearer, his words like that liquid fire of your victory drink, hot against you, and you come. And you can’t remember it ever feeling so intense, like every bit of you, every nerve is exploding or imploding with the pleasure. Like how can this not kill you? Because Peter is still there, anchoring you. How can somebody so…… be your anchor? You open your eyes and you’re still dreaming. Look down and it looks absolutely obscene, come on his fingers and against the chair, the shiny floor. But it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to look at it, just blink. Blink and you’re awake._

 

A fucking wet dream? He hasn’t had any of those since he started shagging Amy. _Shagging?_ Man, he’s been around Peter way too long. Oh my god. _Peter_. The entire dream comes surging back into his head, too much info all at once, but he _remembers_ , in vivid, sense-memory detail.

Holy shit.

“Hey,” Amy says, coming back to bed with wet hair, drying the head of her toothbrush against the towel she’s wearing. She looks down at him and he feels his face burn hot. “Charley, I’ve been out of bed for like 20 minutes. You couldn’t wait?”

“Um…” he says, because he can’t think of an answer to that, and he’s still reeling from that dream.

“Was it a good dream at least?”

“Definitely,” he says slowly, and he means it.

“Was I in it?” she drawls, climbing back into bed and helping to relieve him of his ruined boxers.

“Of course you were,” he says, and at least he’s not lying. Yet. “Who else would I dream about?” 

 

FIN


End file.
